


The Star Child: A "Star Trek" Fairytale

by DayOldHakarl



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Alternate Universe, Curses, M/M, Magic, Space Pirates, Witches, fairy tale, genetic manipulation, royal family
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-21
Updated: 2018-11-28
Packaged: 2019-08-27 05:54:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16696714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DayOldHakarl/pseuds/DayOldHakarl
Summary: A "Star Trek: Deep Space Nine" fairy tale involving princes, curses, and the power of love. But not in the way you'd think...





	1. Prologue

Far among the distant stars, far within the distant time, there lived a King and Queen. They tried for many years to have a baby, and eventually they did: a small but healthy boy they named Jules. His birth brought in much rejoicing, for they now had a true heir to the throne.

But there was a problem. Young Jules was always smaller and thinner than the other children his age. He was also not as bright, not as fast, and not as brave. While the other children were learning how to use a computer, Jules could not tell the difference between a cat and a dog, nor a tree and a house. Jules knew something was wrong, but he did not know what, and he knew his parents were greatly upset with him.

Desperate to have a strong, smart, and brave heir to the throne, King Richard summoned the Witches of Adigeon to see if they could correct the boy’s behavior.

After examining young Jules, the Eldest Crone said, “There is something very peculiar about your child.”

“Yes, I know,” King Richard agreed hurriedly. “Can you fix him?”

“We can help your child. But it will come at a high price.”

“I’ll give you whatever you ask,” King Richard agreed.

But the Elder Crone shook her head. “Not money,” she explained, “but a curse will befall your son, and if he does not lift it before his thirtieth birthday, he shall fall into a deep sleep and never wake again. You will lose your one, true heir. Tell me, Your Majesty: is it worth the price?”

“Yes, of course it is!” King Richard exclaimed. “He is my son, and I want to give him every advantage he’s missing. Our kingdom needs a strong leader, and only my Jules can become it. The Bashir family has ruled these lands for hundreds of generations. I _will_ not...I _cannot_ be its final king.”

“Watch your words, Your Majesty,” the Crone warned, “for the Universe grants us all we ask for, but perhaps not in the way we want it to.”

“Please heal my son,” King Richard begged the Elder Crone. “A curse will be nothing to us afterward. Give me the son I know he’s meant to become.”

The Elder Crone nodded once and, while the young Prince Jules was asleep, she cast a slumber spell over him and sealed him in a crystal coffin that worked its magic. His only companion was an old teddy bear, Kukalaka, who never left his owner’s side. He remained in that crystal coffin for seven years, finally awakening when he was fifteen years old.

“What has happened to me?” he asked, arising from his coffin and examining himself. He had grown taller and gained more muscle (though he was still very svelte); he could move faster, think quicker, and had become very brave.

“You have been cured of your condition,” the Elder Crone explained carefully. “It was the wish of your father to…”

“ _He_ did this to me?” Jules asked, astounded and hurt. “Was I _that_ much of a disappointment to him?”

“I cannot and will not speak for your father,” the Crone replied, “but it was his wish for you to grow up happy and smart and strong…”

“So he ultimately decided to fix me without waiting for me to try,” Jules interrupted again. “He looked at me and saw failure, he couldn’t stand having a broken son. Is that it?”

The Crone sighed. “My child, I cannot tell you why he did what he did. All I can say is he did it with the best intentions. Whether or not I agree with him,” she went on, raising her voice to speak over Jules, “ _that_ is none of your business.”

“I can’t believe he did this to me,” he whispered.

“Do not dwell on this, my dear,” she advised. “You are, deep down, still the person you were born to be. Nothing your father or anyone else - including myself - can do will ever change that.”

“What do you suggest I do?”

“Take back your life,” the Crone instructed, gripping the Prince with her frail arms. “Take back your life, from this day forward, every way you can. Do not be beholden to your father. Reinvent yourself. Rise from the ashes and become even greater than you’ve ever dreamed.” She let go of the prince, went back to the crystal coffin, and lifted the teddy bear from inside.

“Kukalaka,” Jules spoke.

“This bear shall be your protector, your guide, your friend.” The Crone broke a piece of the crystal coffin off and held it over the bear’s tummy, whispering an ancient prayer. The crystal slowly vanished within the bear. “Keep this bear with you, no matter what. If you need her, she will come.”

Jules took Kukalaka and stroked her worn face. As his hand moved, the bear magically stitched back up, its lost eye reappearing, looking almost as good as new. Julian stared at the bear in wide-eyed amazement.

“What just happened?” he asked.

The Crone smiled. “That, my dear, is your gift, a treasure you were born with deep in your heart. Very, very few people are given a gift. Yours, it appears, seems to be a healing touch.” She looked up at Jules. “Perhaps you will become a doctor.”

“A doctor,” Jules whispered, stroking the bear again. “Instead of a prince…”

“The Universe gives you everything you ask for, so long as you ask correctly,” the Crone said. “Go forward, Prince Jules, and receive all the Universe has to offer.”

“ _Julian_ ,” the Prince corrected. His voice was quiet but there was a hint of conviction, of knowing that what he was doing was the right thing.

“Say it again,” the Crone directed. “Say it again. Write it into the stars. Make it your first new truth.”

The Prince nodded once, lifting his head to the stars. “From this day forward, I shall be Prince Julian Subatoi Bashir!” he shouted proudly.


	2. The Tailor

“Where is that boy?” King Richard fumed, pacing nervously in the Grand Hall of the castle. “Princess Palis is due here at any moment. He knew she’d be here today. Why does he always do this?”

“If I may, Your Majesty,” Constable Odo of the Royal Guard began, his voice gruff, “it’s possible you keep too tight a hold on Prince Julian. It’s no different than when you put a leash on a dog: too tight and the dog will rebel.”

“Yes, well,” Richard began with a sneer, “if he had brothers and sisters I’d be slightly less concerned. But you know my son. Always getting into trouble. Always looking at the stars and never keeping his feet planted on the Earth _where he belongs_ . Reading those trashy spy novels and playing those _ridiculous_ holosuite games. He should be preparing for when it’s his turn to take the throne!”

“While I do agree the Prince can be a bit... _frivolous_ at times, he’s old enough to do as he pleases.”

“He’s been this way since he was fifteen.”

“I wonder why _that_ is.”

King Richard gave a warning look to his Constable. Though Odo was his best soldier and most loyal, he had a very annoying way of saying whatever he thought. He did not have the fear or respect for him that the others in the Guard - or in the palace, for that matter - did.

“All the same,” Odo continued, “you _have_ kept His Royal Highness under lock and key since he returned from Adigeon. You hardly let him go on diplomatic missions unless he’s got half the Royal Guard with him, and you expect him to do precisely as you please while giving him nothing in return.”

“I have given that boy everything!”

“Except freedom. He lives in a gilded cage. Give him enough time and he will find a way out.”

“Are you suggesting Jules has left the palace? Impossible. I have sentries at every gate and patrols every fifteen minutes. He can’t have gotten out without us knowing. He can’t.”

“Are you trying to convince _me_ , Your Majesty, or _yourself_?”

Richard did not reply; he simply looked out a window, over the walls of the palace, to the city beyond.

“Get out there and find him,” he finally ordered. “And hurry it up. He can’t have gotten far.”

 

***

Julian grinned from beneath his hood. He loved visiting the city port for two reasons: one, he could see all the spaceships and aliens that arrived and all the goods they brought with them.

Two, he could hear his father seething with rage.

This was certainly not the day for one of Julian’s characteristic absences: today was the day King Delon was bringing his daughter, Palis, to the kingdom so he, Julian, could marry her. The idea was to bring their two kingdoms together and end a centuries’ old conflict once and for all.

This marriage had been arranged since Julian and Palis were babies; they’d only met each other when Julian was six and Palis five. They’d corresponded time and again, and they had kissed once or twice, but aside from obligation there was nothing drawing Julian to Palis.

It was the stars that called out to him.

But, as he was constantly reminded, he had an obligation to stay here, on Earth, to rule the kingdom once his father became too old to do so. Was he aware of how much his father had given up for him? (Yes, of course he was.) He did that to make Julian the man he knew he could be. (No, he didn’t.) He made Julian taller, stronger, smarter, faster, braver. He saw his broken son and he took it upon himself to fix him. Those enhancements would one day make him a great king and, once married to Palis and fathering a son, would continue the Bashir family name through the generations.

His heart burned with rage.

No. Julian wouldn’t focus on that. His heart hurt whenever he thought of his anger over his parents sending him away to Adigeon to live with the Witches (even though they were far kinder to him than his parents ever were). And Julian didn’t like to feel that hurt. He could deal with any pain better than almost everyone he knew, but that pain was somehow far, far worse. It was a dark hand gripping his heart and squeezing the life out of him. He wondered if the Witches knew what that was, but his father long forbade him to ever return to Adigeon to ask why.

Julian sighed. He’d never leave Earth at this rate.

Adjusting his hood Julian emerged into the busy streets of the port, taking in everything his brain could process (which was a lot): the Vulcans negotiating with the kingdom’s taxation officials (“negotiating” being Vulcan for “arguing”), the Andorrans bringing in large crates of curiosities from their frozen homeworld, Klingons belting out ancient war ballads as they left the various taverns… Julian grinned from ear to ear as he watched and listened and processed, his heart aching to sneak onto one of their ships and sail across the stars with them…far, far away from this dreadful life…

He wasn’t watching where he was going when he bumped into someone.

“Hey!” a woman’s voice shouted. “Watch where you’re going!”

“Oh, I’m so sorry, I…” Julian looked up at the woman and his breath left him. She was a Trill with dark brown hair, vivid blue eyes, and delicate spots that framed her face, traveled down her neck, and disappeared beneath a frilly white top. She was beautiful.

“You…”

“You made me drop my wine!” she went on, gesturing to the shattered bottles that littered the ground. “You know how much that cost me? You better come up with a way to replace these.”

“I…” This was a problem. Julian never carried credits with him; all of his needs were taken care of at the palace. If he ever got into trouble, his father bailed him out. Out here, he was alone. Alone and penniless. “I, uh...I’m afraid I don’t have anything…”

The Trill grabbed him by the collar and thrust him into the wall. “You cost me more than two week’s pay right there!” she barked. “If you don’t come up with anything, I’ll…”

“You’ll do what, madam? Kill him?”

Both Julian and the Trill woman stopped struggling at the sound of a male voice. A figure stepped out of the shadows, the light making grotesque work of his gray skin and forehead ridges.

_A Cardassian!_

“Stay outta this, Cardi,” the Trill warned.

“Is this youngling _really_ worth the hassle of a murder charge?” the Cardassian continued. “It’s only wine…”

“That cost me two week’s pay!”

“In that case, I’d be happy to give you some credits to replace what you’ve lost.” He reached into a pocket and withdrew some pieces of gold, which he handed to the woman. She studied it and, once she made sure it was real, nodded once.

“You’re alright,” she spoke.

“For a Cardi,” the man replied greasily, smiling benignly.

The woman’s expression faintly changed as she glared at Julian before disappearing back into the crowd to buy more wine.

Julian let out a huge breath of air. “Sir, I can’t thank you enough for that!” he said. “I was afraid…”

“You’d best keep your wits about you lest you anger another space pirate like her,” the man warned, his tone changing ever so slightly to emphasize the gravity of his words. “Someone may not be as charitable as I to save you in the future.”

Julian nodded slowly. “Of...of course. Thank you. Mister…?”

“Garak,” the man replied. “Plain, simple Garak. I’m a tailor. I’ve seen just about every face that comes through here, but I can’t say I’ve ever seen yours.”

_That’s because my dear father keeps me locked up behind the palace walls._ “I...I’m from...the countryside.”

“I see. You know, I’ve got some lovely fabrics at my shop that I think would suit you better than that…” Garak eyed Julian’s clothes with disdain. “...apparel. Do an old man a favor and at least indulge me in this much?”

“You can’t be old,” Julian insisted, following the Cardassian. “Then again, I’ve never really seen a Cardassian before, so I wouldn’t know…”

“I’m certainly older than _you_ are,” Garak interrupted gently, walking through the crowds. “So I am old...from a certain point of view.”

“Still,” Julian went on, “I really would disagree. Age isn’t really anything but a number, isn’t it? Although I’m about to turn thirty in three months’ time…” He sighed dramatically.

“Might as well crawl into your casket and die then, if that’s how you feel.”

Julian blushed. “That...that wasn’t remotely what I…”

“That is the problem with Terrans, if you don’t mind my saying,” Garak went on, not looking back at Julian. “You all view aging as some sort of inevitable tragedy. May I remind you that at one point in your history, hardly anyone lasted as long as you have?”

“Well, that’s not actually true. It’s actually more closer to…”

“Ah, my shop!” Garak gestured broadly to a small storefront with two figures in the window clothed in finer garments than even Julian had seen at the palace. “Come in, come in! I must ask your forgiveness, as it’s in quite a state: I seemed to misplace some very rare fabrics and for the life of me I couldn’t find them. I practically tore the store apart looking for them. Turns out I sold them last week to a lovely girl from Bajor.” He laughed and shook his head. “Perhaps I _am_ getting old. Have a look around, I’ll see what I might find for you.”

“These are exquisite!” Julian breathed as he walked amongst the mannequins, gently fingering the fine material. “I’ve never seen anything like them.”

“You’re far too kind, young man,” Garak replied. “It’s taken quite a while, but I’ve managed to make most of these pieces…”

“You _made_ these?!” Julian gasped, spinning about. “ _All_ of these?”

“But of course! Do you think this can be replicated?”

“Not easily.” A stray glimmer caught Julian’s eye. He moved to the back of the shop where a black shirt was tucked behind some dresses. Julian touched the material and was stunned at how smooth it was, how much it flowed. It felt like water in his hands.

“You have a good eye,” Garak complimented, noticing Julian’s find. “That’s not one of my best pieces - the fabric was very particular, very difficult to work with. It’s said to reflect the inner aura of its wearer and show up as a colored sheen. It looks different on every person who has ever tried it on, and no one has been happy with what they’ve seen.” He paused. “Perhaps they’re not too keen on seeing what they hide brought to light.”

Julian looked at Garak, confused. “What do you mean?”

“Have you heard of Star Seeds, my dear boy?”

“I know a little about them. Something about how we’re all made of stars but some of us have a little bit more star stuff than others. Very _Animal Farm_ if you ask me.”

Garak blinked. “It has nothing to do with animals.”

“Oh, no...it’s a book. An old one. I can bring it by if you’d like to read it.”

“I’d be delighted. Anyway, as I was saying. You are _partially_ right, my dear: Star Seeds were created from the souls of the very first stars ever made. Some say _everyone_ has one, but I don’t believe that myself.”

“Why not?”

“Because only _true_ Star Seeds can illuminate the cosmos,” Garak clarified. “If everyone had true Star Seeds, the universe would be as bright as the surface of a sun.”

“And we’d miss the beauty of the night sky.” Julian sighed. “‘I have loved the stars too truly to be fearful of the night.’”

“What a lovely sentiment! Did you come up with that?”

Julian chuckled. “I wish. It’s from an old poem.”

“You are quite good with your literature. I might return the favor and lend you some Cardassian books as well.”

Julian’s eyes lit up. “Yes, please! I’d _love_ to read them!”

“Wonderful! And...out of my sheer curiosity, _I’d_ love it if you tried on that shirt. If you have a Star Seed, perhaps that fabric will properly reflect it.”

“Oh I doubt that,” Julian said, admiring the shirt in his hands.

“At the very least,” Garak went on, gently, “I would like to see how it looks on such an exquisite creature like you.”

Julian felt his face heat up as he looked up from the shirt, his breath catching in his throat. Did Garak really just say that to him? Did...did he give him a compliment? He swallowed hard, wondering why this was affecting him so. The cynic in him was saying Garak was simply trying to sell him the shirt. But another part of him...the part that was caught up in the sky blue of Garak’s eyes…

“I, um...yes. Yes, of course,” Julian stammered. “I’d, uh...be glad to.”

Garak’s smile grew wider as he gestured to a fitting room. Julian walked inside as Garak closed the door behind him. “I’ll be out here if you need anything.”

“Promise not to peek?” Julian asked meekly. He had no idea why.

But Garak shook his head. “I’m a man of honor, my dear boy. I would never peek unless you asked.”

That didn’t help, either.

Once he was certain the door was closed, Julian removed his cloak and his current shirt (something he’d replicated before leaving the palace - in fact the entire outfit was based on images of the common folk he’d seen milling about outside) and let them fall haphazardly to the floor. He slid the black fabric of the new shirt over his head and onto his torso. The way it felt as it slid down his skin was incredible, smoother than the finest silks in the quadrant. Julian was overcome with a feeling of perfection, of comfort, as though he were floating down a lazy stream on a perfect summer day. He closed his eyes and allowed his body to absorb every bit of the fine fabric, never wanting to take it off.

“How’s it coming?” Garak asked.

“It’s...it’s _incredible_ ,” Julian replied breathlessly. “I’ve never worn something so...so…”

“Gold?”

Julian opened his eyes. He realized Garak had opened the door and was giving him the oddest look. Julian was about to ask what was wrong when Garak pointed at the mirror. Julian turned to see his reflection, and he gasped in shock.

Golden fibers were appearing in the rich blackness of the fabric, gold that wasn’t there just moments earlier. Every little movement Julian made, the gold shimmered and shone. It was as if the fibers were responding to Julian’s muscles, his bones, his entire being.

“I’ve never seen it do that before,” Garak muttered, his hand to his mouth. His expression was starting to make Julian nervous. “Are...are you _positive_ you don’t have a Star Seed?”

“How would you know?” Julian asked. “I...I’ve never…”

“Tell me: do you have any strange abilities? Things you can do that cannot be explained?”

_Short of my enhancements, you mean?_ “I can heal people by touching them,” Julian answered. He held up his hands, which were now also glowing with a dim golden light. His eyes widened as he turned to Garak. “You don’t suppose…”

“I don’t _suppose_ , I _know_. You, my dear young man, have a Star --”

“HALT! IN THE NAME OF KING RICHARD, YOU ARE UNDER ARREST!”

Julian and Garak whirled about to the front of the shop, and Julian’s heart crashed through the floor. There stood Constable Odo and about four of his father’s stupid guard. No! No, no, _no_! How the hell did they find him?

“What is all this?” Garak demanded. “Why am I arrested? I’ve done nothing…”

Odo stepped forward, pointing a finger at Julian. “You have kidnapped His Royal Highness Prince Julian Subatoi Bashir!”

Julian shrunk backward. This wasn’t happening. No, damnit, no!

Garak scoffed. “The Prince? That coddled little brat has never left the palace! He wouldn’t last five seconds on these streets.”

“Um...Garak…” Julian began, trying to find his voice.

Two guards stepped forward next to Odo and pointed large rifles at him. “ _Do not speak ill of the royal family, Cardassian!_ ” Odo barked.

“Be reasonable, Constable!” Garak snapped, his calm veneer cracking by the second. “How can I kidnap someone held in an impenetrable palace? No one with half a brain would even attempt it!”

“Garak…” Julian began, his voice slightly louder.

“If you don’t relinquish the Prince to me, I will not hesitate to kill you,” Odo warned over the whine of the rifles’ charging.

“Whatever happened to your Terran concept of a search warrant? Of probable cause? You have a lot of gall entering my shop…”

POW! One of the guards fired a warning shot that hit Garak directly in the shoulder, causing him to cry out and fall to the floor.

“MISTER GARAK!” Julian shouted, rushing to the Cardassian’s side.

Garak grunted as Julian fumbled with the fasteners of his shirt. “What are you…”

“Please forgive me,” Julian whispered, pulling back the fabric and revealing a good-sized laser wound that was streaming blood. Cradling Garak with his left arm, he gently placed his right hand on the wound. Garak hissed in pain.

“Your Highness,” Odo warned, “you need to leave.”

“I will deal with you later, Constable!” Julian shouted angrily before turning back to Garak. He closed his eyes and concentrated, sending all the healing power he had into his hand and into Garak’s body. Soon the wound began to shrink and mend itself until it was completely gone.

“Please,” Julian pleaded to Garak. “Please forgive me.”

Garak’s eyes widened at the realization. “You...you’re the Prince…”

“I’m so sorry,” Julian apologized. “I...I couldn’t…”

“Your Highness, your father awaits you back at the palace!” Odo yelled. “You will return to the palace immediately and explain yourself!”

Julian opened his mouth to argue but Garak put a hand over Julian’s. “I’m not worth this, Your Highness,” Garak insisted. “Go with them. Leave me be.”

“But Garak…” Julian began. “I can’t…”

“Go,” Garak ordered, this time more pointed. “You’ve caused me enough trouble for one day.”

Julian shook his head as the other two guards extricated him from Garak’s prone body. “No, please...please don’t do this, Mister Garak… Please, I’m so sorry!”

Garak sat up and said nothing more as the guards dragged Julian out, the Prince shouting all manner of threats and orders as Odo and the others followed him out.

“Yes, my dear, it _is_ a shame,” Garak spoke to himself as Julian was being led away. “Such a shame that I’ll have to kill you.”


	3. The Pirate King

“Do you have any idea how foolish you made me look, Jules?” Richard shouted as he paced before Julian. Odo stood a short distance away, unblinking. “King Delon thought I was having him on - backing out of our agreement!”

“My name is Julian,” Julian commented wearily, staring straight out in front of him and not focusing on his father.

“Oh not this nonsense again… No matter. These marriage negotiations have been going on since you were a baby. I’ll not have you run off like that again.”

Julian sighed boredly.

“Which brings me to my next issue,” Richard went on, raising a finger as he kept pacing. “I told you never to leave the palace without a guard! You could have been killed! Didn’t you think of that? All the work you’ve done…”

“You mean  _ you’ve  _ done?” Julian mocked, sass dripping from his voice.

Richard strode to Julian and struck him across the face with the back of his hand, knocking the Prince to the floor. Even the unflappable Odo looked stunned.

“DON’T YOU DARE TAKE THAT TONE OF VOICE TO ME!” Richard bellowed. “I AM YOUR FATHER, I COMMAND YOUR RESPECT!”

Julian remained on the cool floor of the palace, breathing heavily, a hand to his cheek. He’d angered his father on countless occasions before now, but this...this was a first. Julian swallowed hard as the darkness began to form around his heart. 

“Get up,” Richard ordered wearily. “Don’t stay on the floor like a dog, Jules.”

“My name,” Julian began, his voice shaking as he turned to his father, “is JULIAN!”

The Storm once more clutched at his heart, causing Julian to seize in pain and double over. Concern crossed Richard’s face like a cloud, causing him to drop whatever issue he had with his strong-willed son.

“It’s your heart again, isn’t it?” he asked.

“Never...never you mind,” Julian spoke heavily, shooing his father away. Through his pain he saw his father standing over him, concerned - almost worried. Julian’s pain was the one thing that would end any argument. Julian never used it to his advantage, but there were moments (fleeting as they may be) where he wished he had the courage to do so. 

Yes, his father was overbearing borderlining on tyrannical, but Julian couldn’t bear to see anyone he loved in pain. 

“Julian, please,” Richard spoke again, his voice softer. “I’m sorry. Please understand I do this to protect you. You’re my only son and I can’t...I can’t bear to watch you suffer.”

“You should...have thought about...that before...you sent me away!” Julian struggled to speak, still clutching at his heart. The Storm grabbed at him again, causing Julian to cry out in pain. Why,  _ why  _ couldn’t he let it drop now? 

_ Because _ , a little voice whispered in his ear,  _ you truly  _ are  _ your father’s son. _

Richard made a gesture. “Constable Odo, Chief O’Brien...take Julian back to his room so he can rest.”

“I’m  _ fine _ ...Father,” Julian wheezed. His vision began to fade in and out as Odo and Miles O’Brien, his own personal guard, rushed to his side. “I’m…”

But he could not continue, for the Storm had traveled to his brain and dragged him back into the mire from which it’d crawled from.

***

When Julian finally awoke, he was in his bedroom, tucked into his bed. He tried to quickly sit up but his head began to swim and his vision began to blur.

“No, yeh don’t,” came O’Brien’s voice. “Back down yeh go, there’s a good lad.” He guided Julian back into his pillows and patted Julian’s shoulder, which Julian now realized was bare.

“My shirt,” Julian asked groggily. “Where…”

“The Constable and I had to cut it off yeh to check yer heart,” O’Brien explained, a hint of sadness in his voice. “I’m sorry. It really was a work of art. Dunno why it stopped bein’ gold when we took it off yeh. Maybe a trick of the light -- Julian, I said to  _ lie down _ !”

But Julian was struggling to get up and get to the shirt. He had to have it back, like a child needing his security blanket. Understanding this, O’Brien rushed to Julian’s desk and picked up the fabric, giving it back to the Prince. It calmed Julian instantly.

“What is with yeh and that shirt?” O’Brien asked, a brow raised. “It’s fine, yeah, but it’s just a shirt…”

“It is not,” Julian interrupted weakly, pressing the cool fabric to his cheek. It still even smelled of Garak’s shop. 

“That Cardi made that, didn’t he?”

“His name is Garak,” Julian corrected as regally as he could muster. 

“Sorry, Yer Highness,” O’Brien apologized. “It’s just...yeh don’t know Cardassians. Yeh can’t trust ‘em.”

“Garak is different.”

O’Brien sighed. “Listen. I know yeh believe there’s good in everyone. I admire that, really I do. But Cardassians are dangerous. Time an’ time again they’ve proven themselves to be far from trustworthy. Just remember what they did to the Bajorans.”

“I know, but…”

“There are no ‘buts’, Julian,” O’Brien interrupted, as though he were talking to his daughter, Molly. “Yer Garak is not what he says he is. I’d trust ‘im as far as I could throw ‘im. An’ don’t start with the ‘yeh don’t know ‘im like I do, Miles’ because the truth is yeh  _ don’t  _ know ‘im any better than I do. And yeh know I’m right.”

Julian looked from O’Brien back to the shirt. It was true: he had heard some horrific tales about Cardassians and the things they’ve done, not just to the Bajorans but to whatever race that crossed them. But still, deep in his heart of hearts, he knew - he just  _ knew  _ \- Garak wasn’t like that. Not like that at all. Why he felt this way, he couldn’t say. All he knew was that O’Brien was wrong about Mister Garak, but it would do him no good to try to explain why.

***

Even though Julian could heal others through touch, he seemed immune to his own ability when the Storm was concerned. The ball scheduled for that evening had been cancelled (thankfully), and Princess Palis sent him a lovely letter wishing him well. Julian’s heart problem was no secret, and doctors from far and wide could not explain the Storm. The best anyone could say was it was psychosomatic. This, to Julian, made the most sense.

Richard, on the other hand, believed it was the curse the Elder Crone had warned him about.

“It’s not a curse, Father,” Julian sighed. 

“They told me you’d die of a curse before your thirtieth birthday, and this must be it,” Richard declared. 

“Then get the Witches here to heal me.”

“They can’t heal you, I asked.”

“So you did what you did knowing full well this would happen.” Julian closed his eyes and leaned back into his pillows. “ _ Brilliant _ move, Father.”

“I’m  _ begging  _ you, Julian,” Richard began wearily, his hands clasped before him, “don’t start with this again. Not now. Please rest up. You’re still very weak.”

So that’s what Julian did. He rested up just as he was told, because no medicine on Earth or any other planet in the Federation could heal him from this. The Storm just had to pass, the doctors said.

He fell into a restless sleep full of dreams with stars, witches, and sky-blue eyes. He awoke late that evening with a jolt, only to discover he was not alone in his room. 

Two blue eyes were staring down at him, but they did not belong to Garak. They were those of the Trill woman from the market.

Julian’s eyes widened and he opened his mouth to speak, but the woman clamped a hand over it to silence him.

“Not a word,” she ordered quietly. She looked over her shoulder and nodded once. 

Julian turned to see what she was nodding at, and to his great surprise a human man emerged from the shadows. He was tall, with dark skin and a goatee. He wore mostly red clothing trimmed with gold and black trousers with black boots. He doffed his hat to the Prince, revealing a bald head.

“Your Highness,” the man began in a rich, low voice, “my name is Benjamin Sisko. I am the captain of the pirate ship, the  _ Defiant _ . I’m here to offer you a deal.”

“What?” Julian breathed, the Trill woman’s hand removed from his face.

“Lieutenant Dax here -” He nodded at the woman. “- tells me you can heal through touch. Is this true?”

Julian turned to the woman called Dax. “How on Earth did you…”

“Gossip travels faster than light,” she said simply. 

“Is this true?” Sisko repeated, more pointedly this time.

“I, um...yes,” Julian confirmed. “Yes, I can, but…”

“Then I propose a deal,” Sisko went on. “I’m here to offer you a place on my starship as chief physician. In exchange, you must renounce your title as Prince and begin life anew as a civilian.”

“And a pirate,” Julian added, narrowing his eyes. 

“You say it like it’s a bad thing,” Sisko noted. “We simply take back what’s rightfully ours.”

“ _ Yours _ ?” Julian repeated with a scoff. “You mean the cargo you steal from Federation ships? Our people need those supplies…”

“What people, commoners?” Dax interrupted. She shook her head. “The Federation fat cats hoard at least seventy percent of it for themselves and mark up the other thirty percent to sell...or rather, to extort credits out of people like us.” She gestured to herself and Sisko. “You benefit more from the system than anyone else does.”

“Not everyone can afford a replicator,” Sisko added. “And even those who can can’t always afford to keep them running. You live a very sheltered life, Mister Bashir.”

Julian winced. No one in his life had ever called him that before, but even still somehow it stung especially hard coming from Captain Sisko.

“I’m, however, offering to change that. Join us. Be the healer we need, and I promise you a life of freedom that you’ve always dreamed of.”

“How did you know…”

“Faster than light,” Dax repeated.

“It won’t be as easy as sitting around playing games all day,” Sisko went on with a smirk. “But I promise you it’ll be worth it.”

“I...I can’t possibly…” Julian began, but Sisko held up a hand to silence him.

“I’ll give you three days to decide. If yes, meet us at the port before midnight on the third day. If not...well...enjoy your gilded cage.” He tipped his hat again and smiled darkly before he and Dax vanished as mysteriously as they had arrived.


End file.
